


carry you home tonight

by jessalae



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Collars, Coming Untouched, Dom/sub, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, Established Relationship, M/M, Orgasm Control, Predicament Bondage, Quentin Coldwater's Canonical Oral Fixation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae
Summary: Eliot laughed and took the hint, kissing over the line of Quentin’s throat, teasing with his teeth and just the tip of his tongue. “I’m getting the sense that relaxing instead of cleaning up won’t be the end ofI should get what I wantthis evening, will it?”“Probably not,” Quentin said. Eliot’s arms tightened around his waist again, one broad hand gripping his thigh. “But ultimately that’s— mm— that’s gonna be up to you, to decide if I get it.”
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68
Collections: Peaches and Plums Stockings 2020





	carry you home tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedBlazer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedBlazer/gifts).



> Thank you to Sylph for betaing!

Quentin really hadn’t wanted a graduation party. Sure, he’d gotten more comfortable with parties in general over the past three years — out of necessity, mostly. Being a Physical Kid didn’t leave you much choice. But those were also parties with dozens of people, where it was easy to fade into the background when he wanted to, grab something delicious to drink and curl himself up in the reading nook with a book or one friend to talk to, sidle off upstairs if he really got overwhelmed. Eliot was a wise enough boyfriend not to try to make him stay, or god forbid _dance_. 

But a party where the whole focus of everyone’s attention was on Quentin — okay, and Alice and Kady, a little bit, and technically all their other yearmates too, but if Eliot was throwing the party obviously it would be _mostly_ about Quentin — was a whole different, more terrifying story. And Eliot, again, was a wise enough boyfriend to know that. So instead of the usual no-holds-barred blowout in celebration of another class of Physical Kids surviving all the way through the end of year three, the evening after the graduation ceremony was a quiet affair: Kady and Penny and Alice and Julia and Eliot and Quentin, burgers with a staggering array of topping choices, soft music in the background and lots of easy conversations, jokes, memories. Margo had sent her regrets, but she couldn’t exactly portal back from Japan in the middle of the G7 summit for a grad party, so they just knew she was thinking of them.

Quentin had two burgers and several glasses of Eliot’s signature Summer Barbecue Punch. He shared a lawn chair with Julia for a while, letting her take his hair out of its little bun and pet his head, getting teary with her over how far they’d come together. He offered an impromptu toast to Penny for his dedicated service as group taxi over the years, which had Penny rolling his eyes but then grinning. He shed the jacket of the suit Eliot had made him wear for the ceremony, rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt as the sun dipped below the trees and the sky washed pink, then purple, then deep dark blue.

He was settled sideways in Eliot’s lap, legs slung over the arm of the chair, when the party wrapped up. Alice drifted upstairs to her room to call Margo on her mirror as soon as it was evening in Japan; Penny and Julia and Kady headed back to the Attic. Eliot’s arms were warm and solid around Quentin’s waist, his breath hot against Quentin’s skin as he nuzzled the side of his neck.

“You’ll have to move so I can clean up,” he murmured, kissing Quentin’s jaw.

“I’m so comfortable, though,” Quentin said. He let his head drop back, giving Eliot better access to his throat. “And it’s my day. I should get what I want.”

“Princess,” Eliot said fondly. “Fine. Stay there. We’ll do this the quick and dirty way.” His hands left Quentin’s waist, and he moved through a short sequence of tuts, muttering in Icelandic. Quentin felt the rush of magic around them, like a hot dry wind over his face. The various serving dishes, dirty plates, the empty pitcher of punch, all lifted themselves up and drifted through the open back door of the cottage. Quentin stayed very still until Eliot sighed and relaxed back into the chair.

“Good enough,” he said. “I’ll come back tomorrow to clean up properly. Or maybe I’ll just make Todd do it.”

“Mm,” Quentin said. He tipped his head back again, arching a little to push the side of his neck into Eliot’s face.

Eliot laughed and took the hint, kissing over the line of Quentin’s throat, teasing with his teeth and just the tip of his tongue. “I’m getting the sense that relaxing instead of cleaning up won’t be the end of _I should get what I want_ this evening, will it?”

“Probably not,” Quentin said. Eliot’s arms tightened around his waist again, one broad hand gripping his thigh. “But ultimately that’s— mm— that’s gonna be up to you, to decide if I get it.”

He felt Eliot’s laugh more than he actually heard it, a rumble in his chest. “You know that’s not how this works,” Eliot said. “You’re the one who needs to be good enough to earn what you want. All the power is in your hands.”

Eliot was kissing further down, now, past the collar of Quentin’s shirt, towards the juncture of his neck and shoulder — down to the thin gold chain that nestled against Quentin’s throat, hidden as it usually was with its built-in invisibility charm. His lips brushed across it, pressing the fine links into Quentin’s skin. Quentin shuddered and licked his lips and breathed out the trigger word to turn off the charm. Eliot hummed approvingly.

“There’s my pretty boy,” he said, and Quentin shuddered again. The pleasantly warm summer evening suddenly seemed a whole lot warmer. “Should we head home? Or do you want to serve me out here, where anyone can see?”

“Home,” Quentin managed, as Eliot’s tongue flicked out to press over his pulse point. “I think Brakebills has had— ah— had kind of enough of your exhibitionism thing.”

“ _My_ exhibitionism thing?” Eliot said, putting on an affronted tone. “You’re paying for that later.”

Quentin felt more magic, a rush of heat against his skin again, as Eliot hooked his arms under Quentin’s knees and behind his back and stood in one motion, lifting him with magically-enhanced ease. He strode off towards the edge of campus like that, Quentin cradled in his arms, heading for the portal that would take them the closest to their apartment. Anyone could’ve seen them — could see how Quentin clung around Eliot’s neck, the flush in his cheeks. And Brakebills had, actually, probably had enough of _their collective_ exhibitionism thing. So it was probably good that the path between the cottage and the portal was deserted.

Eliot kept up his telekinesis all the way through the grungy alley on the other side of the portal and nearly out onto the street before he finally deposited Quentin on his feet, taking his hand so they could stroll along the sidewalk, a normal not-at-all magical couple. Quentin caught sight of his own reflection in a storefront window as they waited to cross the street: hair loose and brushing nearly to his shoulders, top button of his shirt open, the glint of the streetlight off the gold chain at his throat. A smile on his face, truer and more deeply felt than he’d ever thought he would manage, honestly.

The collar had been— not a point of contention, exactly, but a— _discussion_ , a year or so ago when they’d gotten it for him. Eliot’s initial point of view had been very reasonable: they weren’t doing the 24/7 thing, neither of them wanted that kind of relationship. Quentin didn’t wear any jewelry, normally, so if he suddenly started wearing a necklace all the time, especially one with an o-ring in the front and a little locking clasp in the back, people would notice, maybe get the wrong impression, make awkward comments.

But with Eliot moving off-campus after his own graduation, working long hours as he fought his way up through the ranks of the cutthroat world of men’s fashion, Quentin had needed— something. To remind him, even when they didn’t see each other for nearly a week, that Eliot was still with him. That they still belonged together. (He would have happily accepted an engagement ring instead, but he knew Eliot had his own timeline for that, so he hadn’t brought it up. He could be a wise boyfriend, too, sometimes.) And if they were already doing the power exchange thing probably about two out of every three times they fucked, if they had been wanting to get Quentin a collar for playing in anyway, well, didn’t this make sense?

Eventually they’d agreed on a simple collar with a built-in invisibility charm, deciding that when it was invisible, they’d interact like any vanilla couple, no kinky anything going on. Quentin could still feel the collar there, touch it when he wanted, let it remind him that Eliot would be there soon. And when he decided to turn the charm off, let the collar show — that meant Eliot had free rein to do whatever he wanted with him. 

When they got to their bedroom Eliot waved a hand, lighting the candles set around the room. Then he pulled Quentin into his arms, curled his fingers firmly around the back of Quentin’s neck.

“I want to tie you up,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing Quentin’s. He dragged the tip of one finger across the line of the collar, brushed the hollow of Quentin’s throat through the slim gold ring. “Use that one toy, the plug with the loop, then get your mouth on me. How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” Quentin whispered. His voice wasn’t going to go any louder right now, apparently. 

A few dizzying moments later he was naked on all fours on their bed, Eliot kneeling in front of him, leaning forward over him to rub one lubed-up finger over his hole. “I barely even need to get you ready,” Eliot murmured. “You’ve gotten so good at taking whatever I give you.” The tip of his finger just barely breached Quentin’s entrance. Quentin bit back a desperate noise, but couldn’t stop himself from shoving his hips back. Eliot laughed. “It’s made you greedy, though,” he said. “That _is_ a problem.”

“Not a problem,” Quentin protested. “You love it when I beg.”

“When you beg, not when you take.” He slipped his finger out, picked up the toy, a thick S-shaped piece of shining metal with a fat bulge at one end, a long curved stem, a small loop at the far end, perfect for running a rope through. “Warm this up,” he said, pressing the thicker end to Quentin’s mouth.

Quentin laved his tongue over the toy, breathed out to fog up its silver surface. Then he wrapped his lips around it and sucked, hard, his cheeks hollowing. Eliot’s face barely twitched. His dick wasn’t as good an actor: Quentin could see it pushing against the front of Eliot's slacks as Quentin worked his mouth over the solid metal of the plug.

Eliot raised one eyebrow, clearly waiting for Quentin to be done. Quentin took his time, letting the bulk of the toy stretch his mouth. When he finally pulled back, licking his lips, he smirked up at Eliot.

“That smile isn't going to be on your face for long,” Eliot said calmly, as he added lube, leaned forward, pressed the warm, blunt end of the plug against Quentin’s hole. “Here it comes, darling, open for me.”

Quentin breathed out as the plug stretched him and settled into him with a tangible pop. Eliot fed more of it into him until the rounded end brushed against his prostate, then let go to deal with the slim cotton rope threaded through the loop. As he gathered Quentin’s hair in one hand and tied the rope right around it with his other, Quentin shifted subtly back and forth, arched his back a little to change the pressure in his ass. His own dick twitched, and he hummed happily, repeated the same motion again.

“Hold still,” Eliot ordered. His voice was deep and dangerous. “Unless you don’t care if you come tonight?”

Heat flooded Quentin’s body, and he held himself stock still. Eliot wouldn’t shy away from making good on that threat. He knew that from agonizing experience.

“That’s my boy.” Eliot held the rope in both hands, then murmured a short charm, and the slack between Quentin’s tied-back hair and the plug in his ass shortened until his head was tipped a little bit back. Quentin held so still he could barely breathe, all his molecules vibrating with the strain. “ _Very_ good. I knew you could do it.” Eliot sat back on his heels, his eyes sweeping over Quentin’s taut body. “All right, you can move, baby. See how it feels.”

Quentin gasped and tried to drop his head forward — the rope pulled on his hair, sharp steady pressure, and the plug moved inside him, the stem tugging on his rim. He shuddered, rocked his hips, flexed his neck. He knew there was a way to almost fuck himself, but he always blissed out so hard he couldn’t quite remember the angle, the motion, to get it right, he had to experiment all over again every time—

Eliot’s hand clamped down on the back of his neck, and he stilled. “That’s enough of that,” Eliot said. He’d opened his vest and shirt, and now he was settling himself on the bed, undoing his pants. “You can move again when you start sucking my cock.”

He helped Quentin ease down onto his elbows, shift his knees so the plug wouldn’t pull out of him as he adjusted positions. Quentin pressed his lips to Eliot’s bare stomach, kissed his smooth skin, needing the contact. The motion pressed the plug against his prostate, making him moan into the crease of Eliot’s thigh.

“Yeah? That feel good for you?” Eliot pulled his cock out of his underwear. “Just make sure you turn me on as good as you’re turning yourself on.”

Quentin mouthed along Eliot’s shaft, gentle brushes of lips and flicks of his tongue, tasting it and feeling it twitch and harden. When he was almost all the way hard, Quentin shifted, grunting as the toy inside him moved with him, and took it into his mouth. Eliot made a low, pleased sound, and his cock firmed up the rest of the way against Quentin’s tongue, the fat head starting to push towards the tight heat of his throat.

“That’s my good boy,” Eliot crooned. He stroked Quentin’s jaw, let his fingers tease down Quentin’s throat to his collar. “You can start sucking whenever you’re ready.”

With a muffled moan, Quentin closed his eyes and let his head fall forward, Eliot’s cock stretching his jaw, a sharp tug on his hair and a delicious stretch in his ass as he worked his way down. He started with shallow strokes, still testing, trying to find that perfect pace and angle. He was close to it, he could tell — so fucking close, the toy nudging but not pressing quite enough on that spot inside him. And he had to be good enough while he figured it out — had to keep Eliot’s cock hard and wet in his mouth, work him with the tip of his tongue. It was a lot to manage, all at once, and he whined a little, shivering involuntarily, eyes screwed shut and brow furrowed.

“Hey,” Eliot said after a moment, that mix of gentle-stern that set all of Quentin’s nerves on fire. “What’s going on? What are you trying to do?”

Quentin pulled off. “Sucking your cock,” he managed. “Using my mouth on you.”

“But that’s not all you’re focused on, is it?” Eliot’s hand wrapped around the back of Quentin’s neck, fingers slipping between the collar and his skin. “Are you being my good boy?”

“Yes,” Quentin protested, then, “M-mostly, _oh_ ,” as Eliot tugged on the rope with his other hand, making the bulb of the plug catch on Quentin’s rim.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“Mm,” Quentin whined. His eyes were still screwed shut, the heat of arousal mingling with the exquisite burn of embarrassment, shame at not only being bad but having to admit it. “I want it, I’m so— I’m so fucking hot for you. I wanna fuck myself on the toy.”

“You’re trying to find the way you can suck me so it feels best for you,” Eliot said calmly, as if he didn’t _know_ that already. He pushed on the long stem of the plug, making it tug on Quentin’s hair and slide further into him. “Did you forget? When you’re mine, how do you get the things you want?”

“I earn them,” Quentin breathed. The toy was a little too deep in him to be perfect, now, the bulb past his prostate, not putting enough pressure— he realized his hips had been about to move, forced them to stay still.

“Now _that_ was good.” Eliot stroked over his hair, still holding the plug in place. “You wanted more, and you stopped yourself. For that, and for telling me what was happening, I’m going to help, all right? I’m going to take care of you. Relax everything, let me move you.”

Quentin obeyed, breathing out slowly to melt the tension out of his muscles, as Eliot hummed thoughtfully and then shifted his position a little, moved forward, pushed on Quentin’s knees until his hips were canted at a different angle.

“Let’s try that,” he said. “Start sucking me again. If it’s not right, _ask_. Don’t take.”

As Quentin lowered his head to take his cock in again, Eliot let go of the plug, and the bulb dragged back exactly where Quentin wanted it, wringing a yelp out of him. He bobbed his head down, then up, and the toy rocked _right there_ , heavy and solid. Quentin’s ass clenched around it.

“Better?” Eliot asked, a note of amusement in his voice. In response, Quentin started sucking him _hard_ , his head moving steadily. “I guess so,” Eliot said. Quentin thrilled at how his voice nearly broke.

It didn’t take long for Quentin to lose himself in it: Eliot’s velvet-soft skin in his mouth, the slow, endless rhythm of back-and-forth, tingling pain across his scalp and the slow-heavy shift of the toy inside him, building his pleasure with every stroke. His limbs were heavy, fuzzy, and his cock was incredibly hard, moving every time the toy rocked across his prostate. Eliot’s voice rumbled through his senses every few moments, praising, moaning. His cock was hot-huge-firm in Quentin’s mouth and his fingers still caressed Quentin’s neck under the collar, occasionally tugging gently on the fine links, pressing them into Quentin’s overheated skin.

He had no idea how long it had been when the pleasure in his ass and the ache in his dick finally hit some invisible threshold, getting sharper, more urgent. Every motion of his head over Eliot’s cock was exquisite agony, building inexorably towards _too much, too much, too much_. Too much — but it felt so _fucking_ good — but he didn’t want to stop — but Eliot wanted his cock sucked, he was Eliot’s good boy—

“Stop,” Eliot said, the sternness of the word cutting through Quentin’s haze. He made a broken noise as he let Eliot’s dick fall out of his mouth, slap wet against Eliot’s belly. “Are you close?”

“So fucking close,” Quentin whispered, holding himself as still as possible, but his thighs were twitching, his arms shaking.

“God,” Eliot breathed. “Remember that time you came from a toy in your ass without me even touching your cock?” Quentin whimpered in a vaguely affirmative tone. “You think you can do that again? Do you want to?”

“I can, I want to.” Quentin felt like he was on the edge of tears, almost, with how bad he wanted to, but— “Are you close too? Did I, I want to do good—”

“I can let go any time, baby,” Eliot said soothingly. “You suck my cock until you come on that toy, and then I’ll come in your mouth for you.”

“On my face,” Quentin breathed. “Please, please—”

“ _Fuck_ , yes,” Eliot said, his cock visibly jumping against his body. “I’ll wait until you come, then I’ll jerk off on your face.” He gripped his cock at the base, tilted it to rub the swollen, wet head over Quentin’s lips. “Get you all messy. Mark my territory.”

Quentin sobbed and opened his mouth, let Eliot feed his cock back in, and settled shakily back into his rhythm. He’d pulled back from the edge a tiny bit while they talked, but he’d only dipped down for maybe two strokes before he was right there again, pleasure coiling tight like a spring inside his body. Eliot’s cock was so fucking deep in his mouth, soaking wet with Quentin’s spit, filling him up— holding him safe as he pulled and pulled and pulled his way to his peak, head stinging, hole twitching and pressing the plug even harder where he was so sensitive, too much, more, even more—

Quentin made a desperate, high-pitched noise, knowing deep in his soul that these next few strokes were it, he was about to be past the point of no return, and Eliot murmured, “Come on, baby, you can come,” and _fuck oh fucking fuck—_ Quentin screamed around Eliot’s cock as the spring coiled inside him released and his orgasm tore through him, dick spurting untouched all over the sheets below him, waves rushing through every muscle and nerve like his whole body was part of it, every cell of him given over helplessly to the pleasure.

Eliot made a choked noise and pushed Quentin’s head up, getting his cock out of Quentin’s panting mouth, jerking hard just under the head until he grunted and hot wet come was hitting Quentin’s face, dripping over his cheek and the bridge of his nose, sliding down to collect on his open lips. Quentin licked it up, finally opening his eyes so he could see Eliot’s blown-wide pupils and heaving chest, the beautiful flush dappled over his pale skin. Warmth sang through his veins, washed over his skin: _he’d_ made Eliot look like that. He’d been good, Eliot had helped him be good, and this was his reward.

They had a whole routine for aftercare, which was good, because Quentin was basically useless. He let Eliot untie his hair and ease the plug out of his pleasantly-aching hole, spell away their come and Quentin’s drool, and then he drank obediently from his bedside glass of water until Eliot returned from the bathroom with a warm wet washcloth to clean him the regular way. The slide of the soft fabric eased him back into his body by stages, as Eliot smoothed it over his face, his neck, between his shoulder blades where sweat had gathered. Finally Eliot was satisfied with his work and got undressed so he could slip into bed with Quentin and gather him close.

Quentin sighed heavily and happily into his chest and murmured the word to make the collar invisible again, then tipped his face up. “Kiss?”

Eliot obliged him, his lips gentle against Quentin’s well-used mouth. “Good, baby?” he asked. “Get what you want?”

“Everything,” Quentin said, smiling up at Eliot, knowing he had the sappiest fucking look on his face. But it was true: he’d made it through grad school. He had friends who loved him, a comfortable apartment, a staggeringly wonderful boyfriend. And he’d just come so hard he saw stars, so. That pretty much rounded out the list. “Just— everything.”


End file.
